It's Not Over
by GuiltyPleasuresAndDeadlySins
Summary: Eliot wonders how it came to this. It had all started out as a regular con, and now it has come to this, the two of them in a petrol soaked house in Toronto, with SRU Team One yelling, with the woman smirking, with that damned lighter flickering. AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Really not sure __**where**__ this came from. Just know that it didn't. Haven't really decided whether it's going anywhere or if it's just a confusing one-shot. I do know that the tense went bizarre half-way through and I switched it all to this tense…_

_Minor cross-over, blink and you will miss it - if anyone can tell me what it is, it's a virtual cookie!_

* * *

She holds the lighter easily, the flame licking up into the air. The lighter is stylised, metal, and while Eliot can't make out the design her fingers obscure, he knows it's going to be the four dragons. It's the same lighter she had when he saw her the last time.

"Can you escape before I drop it?"

Eliot can smell the petrol soaking into the carpet. They are in a ticking time-bomb, and only one of them will survive if it goes off while they are still in the room. It isn't going to be him, if he's still in the room. The flame's dancing is almost hypnotic.

"You as fast as you used to be?"

There is a challenge in her words, and Eliot wonders how it came to this. It had all started out as a regular con, and now it has come to this, the two of them in a petrol soaked house in Toronto, with SRU Team One yelling, with the woman smirking, with that damned lighter flickering and sparking. He knows he can get out, he _is_ as fast as he used to be.

"Shall we find out?"

The woman jerks, a vicious flash of her teeth and Eliot's reminded that she snapped years ago. They'd tried to section her. What a bundle of jokes _that_ had been. The psych ward had been burnt to the ground, nearly all the inhabitants dying, in a 'gas leak'. He knew the truth. It was far more horrifying, and he wondered absently how she'd managed it without help – cause no-one _would_ have helped her. Not in something _that_ psycho.

"Not talking to me?"

It's not a challenge, it's not even a question. It's a statement of fact, she knows he's not talking to her, hasn't spoken to her since the two of them spent six months in hell – almost literally. Admittedly, that was a mutual agreement, they weren't supposed to even meet up, or be in the same city. If either of them spotted the other in the street, they turned around, walked the other way and left the city. Together like this was too dangerous.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Eliot fights down the feeling growing in his chest. They are three stories up. Escaping from this isn't going to be easy to explain. He can hear the team screaming in his ear and takes the earpiece out. He can't afford distractions right now. All that can exist is him, the girl with the flame red hair, and the lighter. She flicks the lighter closed.

"I can take you down."

His statement doesn't surprise either of them, and her wicked smirk widens as she flicks the lighter open again, the flame leaping up. He stares at it as she stares at him, her eyes flicker almost demonically, the flame reflected in them seems to belong there in a way it wouldn't in anyone else's eyes. His eyes flickered to the tattoos peaking out from underneath her leather jacket. He knows what they are, slipping around her shoulders, he's memorized them, traced them a million times over, before they had to split up.

"Before I drop the lighter?"

Her question isn't unexpected. In fact, it's exactly what she _always_ says in a situation like this. At least…it's what she'd said the _last_ time the two of them had been in this situation. This was only the second time it had happened, and Eliot prayed it would be the last. This was always bloody hard to explain.

"Probably not."

There, he could admit it, he wasn't so proud that he couldn't. At least, not with her. Her eyes lit up and her smirk widened again, all too soon, Eliot was sure her face was going to split in two from the effort of maintaining that smile. Then again, he wasn't quite sure she'd be _her_ or that he'd believe this situation was real if not for that improbably increasing evil smirk of hers. Admittedly, there was part of him that found it absolutely adorable.

"Didn't think so."

It's drawled, and this time, there's no question mark involved, not even for courtesy sake and they're screwed. They've passed the line they always tried to keep so plainly drawn. So long as this wasn't a conversation they could control it. So long as it was an inquisition on one of their parts, everything was fine. That unspoken line had been more than crossed. It no longer even existed.

"It's been a while."

Another admittance from his lips. Truth was he couldn't really risk the whole kit-and-caboodle of the team knowing the truth. If they knew…they'd be at risk. The world he existed in was a risky one. The woman in front of him was leant against the wooden post that ran up the entire house for some completely unknown reason, the lighter being flicked open and closed, on and off idly as she watched him.

"Don't doubt it."

Her accent's faded, it's not as clipped as it used to be. Eliot wonders why his mind is informing him of these useless bits of information. It's not going to get him out when she finally chucks the lighter down. It's just him, her, the lighter, and their strangely teasing, playful, flirtatious words. He never questioned how any conversation they'd ever had turned into this, flirting, banter that was laced with vicious, poisoned jibes.

"You here for a reason?"

Eliot wonders what inspired him to ask. Since when did she ever need a reason to do anything? Still, he asks. His serious words laced with dark meaning she doesn't miss. Her eyes widen, and one hand trails seductively to the low 'V' formed by her jacket's zip. Eliot wonders if she has a t-shirt on.

"I wanted someone to pay."

The seductive move doesn't leave, even as her words are laced with a venom not aimed at Eliot. He doesn't need to ask what that someone needed to pay. He already knew. He'd known since the beginning of this situation, since he'd seen her in that room and neither of them had walked away, instead ending up here. But that still didn't make him extend her an alliance, a 'truce' in their endless, painful confused dance. Just because they are on the same side, doesn't mean they can work together.

"Someone always has to pay."

And doesn't Eliot Spencer know the truth of his own statement? He also knows that all too often, it's the _wrong_ person. Then again, for some reason unless it's a child or a battered woman, Eliot was never been able to bring himself to care before. But now…

"I'd say a penny for thoughts. But it's overpriced for both of us."

Eliot chuckles. Only she candeliver a comment filled with such self-deprecatory nonsense and still make the person who heard it think it was an insult to them alone. He's long since learnt to brush her harsher comments off and see the self-hatred she hid in plain sight in them. Psychotic? Yes. Unaware of it? No. Likes being the way she was? Even more 'No'.

"You're probably right."

He hits back. Two can play this fool's game they got involved in. Whether or not it'll break them is another question. They've never been good at losing. Never been that good at winning either. He's the best in his field and he still strives for more. Blood has long since expunged the demons of her past, yet she still seeks more to prove to herself that she's not weak.

"But that's not why we're here."

Eliot curses himself for voicing that thought. It had been getting as close to perfect they could obtain, this twisted, hateful, skewed encounter. But it has to end somehow. They can't delude themselves about that. They've never been able to delude themselves before, they can't start now. Her eyes hold that dangerous glint again.

"Can you escape before I drop it?"

The lighter flares up again, and Eliot finds himself entranced by the dancing flame this time. Dangerously so, he can't afford distractions.

"You as fast as you used to be?"

Eliot tenses. He's as fast as he's always been. Maybe even faster, he hasn't stopped training.

"Shall we find out?"

That's his cue, and Eliot streaks across the room to the window, even as the lighter falls from her fingers.

"It's not over."

The words are quiet, almost swallowed by the 'whoosh' as the petrol ignites. Eliot smashes through the window and makes the fire-escape of the next building. It's too far for a normal person to make, but Eliot's long since accepted that he's not normal.

Maybe he'll just stay here away. It's comfortable enough. There's warmth coming from opposite him, he's damn near concealed.

Let them think the fire killed him.

It's just not over. It never is, never has been, probably never will be.

After all, they've never had a fat lady to sing.

* * *

_A/N: Prologue or one-shot? You opinions are appreciated. Please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Well…here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy! (Sorry for the length...)_

* * *

Nate stared at the burning building, a sick feeling in his chest. There was no way Eliot could've escaped from that. He glanced at the rest of his team. Hardison had pulled Parker against him and the two of them seemed to be crying – at least, Nate could see that Hardison was crying, while Parker's shoulders were hitching and her head was buried in the hacker's shoulder. Sophie was biting her lip, her teeth almost tearing straight through it, and Nate reaches out for her, pulling her to him and holding her close. He wasn't entirely sure which of them was actually being comforted by his actions.

"He can't be gone," she whispered into his shirt. "He just can't be!"

Nate found himself rocking slightly in an attempt to soothe her, blinking back his own tears. He couldn't let the rest of the team see how upset he was. He noticed the members of the police team who Hardison had informed him (in a very tense voice) had been 'negotiating with the psycho chick who's got Eliot'. They didn't look happy. In fact, they were somewhat split up, all leant against various vehicles letting other cops take statements.

"What name was Eliot going under?" Nate asked Sophie, needing to give her something to do. Needing to give _himself_ something to do more to the point.

"Simon Taylor," Sophie supplied, wiping her eyes.

"Alright, have you got your Jenny Taylor ID?" It was a stupid question. It was the ID she'd been using for the con.

Still, Sophie checked her pockets and nodded as Nate searched for a suitable ID. He found one.

"Timothy Taylor," he stated, holding it up. "You're his wife, I'm his brother. Alright?"

Sophie nodded again. "What're we doing?"

"We're running to that police line, and you're screaming for your husband. We need to know what's going on."

"How can you be so calm?" her voice was shaking.

"This isn't calm Soph, this is me struggling not to snap. We need to do something."

Sophie regarded their mastermind as he said that and she could see the tears in his eyes, and the tense lines in his body. He looked like he was about to punch someone. The difference was, the person who normally looked like that had just been caught in the explosion that had demolished the house he'd been being held in. The house they'd rented for the duration of the job. So, after a quick glance to Parker and Hardison and a 'stay there' gesture from Nate, the two of them started shoving their way through the crowd. They reached the police cordon and Sophie literally screamed Eliot's assumed name, before breaking down completely in Nate's arms, sobbing for her 'husband'. It hurt more knowing that her actual grief wasn't as acted, even as the crowds drew back to a more respectful distance while still fighting to see what was going on.

One of the negotiators moved over to where they were now knelt, with Nate rocking Sophie in his lap, sobbing himself for his 'little brother'. He knelt down in front of them.

"I'm Sergeant Greg Parker," he told them quietly. "Can I ask who 'Simon' is?"

Nate forced himself to appear to calm down. No. He wouldn't lie, even to himself. He forced himself to _actually_ calm down. "He's my little brother and Jenny's husband. We'd rented this house for our holiday. Well, their holiday, I came along at the last minute…" Nate silently wished that the part about the house being the one they'd rented wasn't true, and it _was_ under the name of Simon and Jenny Taylor.

He wished that they hadn't taken this job…

…But Eliot had been insistent, said it was just what they all needed, a break from the States. Goodness only knew why. That they needed to get away from it before it smothered them, and that being here would do them some good. That they could make a holiday out of the end of it. Take a break from the constant adrenaline. Adrenaline Nate was fairly sure Eliot practically lived on – ninety minutes sleep did not leave a lot of room for him to live on much else. And now Eliot wasn't there to help them. Now they were going to have to bury him. He was gone. It hadn't really hit Nate until now. Eliot Spencer. The indestructible protector of Leverage Consulting was gone. The man immune to everything that was thrown at him, had been destroyed. The man who was so blackly humorous, who joked with Hardison and Parker and supported him and Sophie, but at the same time held that dark shield that none of them could get past was dead. The man who could take four guys out in seconds, wasn't coming back. The man who'd survived furious mob bosses, envious hitters and wars, had finally been taken out. By a mad woman with a lighter.

God he needed a drink.

Who was going to rib Hardison mercilessly about his computer games? Who was going to tell Parker she was weird, discuss conspiracy theories with her and teach her to fight? Who was going to be Sophie's back-up and devil's advocate? Who was going to be there telling Nate that his actions were all very Catholic when they met their clients in the bar that Nate never really bought anything but coffee from? Who was going to be there to make random comments about what someone's profession was, or what weapon was being used just by a short glimpse of some action he'd seen or heard? Who the hell was going to protect them from the bruisers they found themselves invariably encountering? Parker could fight, but she was no-where _near_ Eliot's league. No-one Nate had ever really met was. Not many art thieves were professional killers or fighters.

He became aware that both the Sergeant who had approached them and Sophie were trying to get him to say something. He blinked at them, trying to get his tongue to co-operate with his addled brain. Or his brain to do something other than crave alcoholic oblivion.

"He's gone," he croaked out.

For a second, he was sure the Sergeant was going to say something about not knowing that to be true. The man proved himself smarter than that.

"Most probably," he stated quietly. "I'm sorry."

It sounded like he was personally responsible for the building exploding.

"Why?" Sophie's normally confident and steady voice sounded shattered. Like the woman had broken. "It's not like you made the building explode.

Nate prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in that the damage to the team wasn't irreparable.

The Sergeant said nothing, just gave them a sympathetic look, and gestured for an ambulance crew to come over.

"They may be in shock," was all he said before walking away.

Nate stared at the building. The fire department had the blaze mostly under control now. Of all the ways Nate had imaged Eliot dying, all the ways he'd seen in vivid Technicolor in his nightmares about the team dying, this wasn't one he'd thought of. A blaze of glory, a blaze of bullets, hell, a blaze of fists since the Tap-Out Job had given him an insight into exactly what men like Eliot were _really_ capable of (he had no doubt that Eliot had been holding back more than any of them realized, if he had be drugged, he wouldn't have been using MMA moves to take the guy down). But an _actual_ blaze. No, that hadn't been a scenario he'd considered.

There was a sudden flare up as dying flames found fuel for new life. That was when Nate saw _Her_.

Looking back, he could never quite pinpoint exactly what about her drew his attention. At first glance, she just looked like one of the many innocents who'd flocked to the scene.

Maybe it was the way the outfit she wore clung to her slender curvaceous figure.

Maybe it was the finger, idly twirling a stray strand of red hair around, drawing attention to long, elegant, pianist's hands.

Maybe it was the way the lighter in her other hand was being flicked off and on absently.

Maybe it was the way she shifted when a cop moved near where she was stood, almost nervous.

Maybe it was the look on her face that made Nate want to storm over to her, and scream at her that Eliot had died.

Maybe it was _that_ look. That sickeningly gleeful look as she watched the building burn. The way her eyes lit up further whenever the flames flared back to life.

Nate found himself deciding in that instant – for no real concrete reason – that that woman was somehow responsible for Eliot's death.

He tried to move to confront her, but found himself throwing up instead.

When he looked up again, only seconds later, he couldn't find the woman in the crowds.

* * *

Hardison had never quite managed to figure out why exactly humans were so obsessed with the misery of others. He'd lost sight of Nate and Sophie shortly after they'd shoved their way into the masses. He was more concerned about the blonde sobbing into his shoulder anyway. Parker was more like Eliot in the emotions respect. Sure, Eliot showed his anger, but that was about the only real negative emotion they got off him, he never showed when he was in pain, or when he was upset. Hardison knew he wore his own emotions on his sleeve, it was why he stuck mostly to the hacking. Sophie and Nate could conceal their emotions, but they often found their voices betraying them, mostly weren't they weren't on the job. Parker and Eliot just seemed to be able to blank out the negative emotions and instead displayed an almost cheerful face to the world. That was why Hardison didn't have a clue how to deal with the crying Parker. It didn't help that all _he_ wanted to do was scream at the injustice of it all.

Things had been going so well. The team had been working well together. They'd been back to being a family – they were more a family than ever. Eliot had stopped going into his dangerous defensive mode when one of them startled him. Not that they could really startle Eliot. Hardison didn't want to think about what would happen now.

The horrid feeling in his stomach was saying that their family was about to be torn apart. And all because of some psychotic, suicidal pyromaniac.

Eliot had meant a hell of a lot more to the team than any of them ever let on.

Parker made a snuffling noise. "Now who's going to tell you that your dreams of world peace through the internet are dumb?"

Hardison remembered the night she was talking about. He'd voiced that thought right after the two boys had been tormenting Parker about conspiracy theories (although more than one of the theories was more than that to the boys). Hardison had stated (slightly tipsy) that he didn't understand why people of all nationalities couldn't just get on. He'd further cited that he was friends with people of many nationalities over the internet. The others had all fallen silent to consider his point. Except Eliot. Eliot had laughed.

"Problem is," he'd drawled, leaning back in his chair, "we don't live in computers. World peace is a wonderful concept on paper. But there ain't no power on earth that could achieve it. We're just too petty. Too violent."

No-one pointed out that violence was his way of life, that some days he was the very definitions of the word. (Hardison was privately surprised that their wasn't a picture of Eliot Spencer next to the word in the dictionary). No-one had really cared. Hardison pulled Parker closer, burying his face in her hair.

"I don't know," he whispered truthfully. "I really don't know."

The realization that the man who'd always protected them from the worst their cons had to offer was dead was hard to take.

* * *

Sophie couldn't remember the last time she'd cried this much. It had been long before she'd become part of the Leverage team. Long before she'd even met Nate Ford. But it was quickly becoming apparent to her that she wasn't going to be able to stop crying for a while. Even after the exhausting, shoulder-shaking sobs had subsided, tears still fell down her face, and her breath was coming in hitched gasps. She felt bone-weary in a way that she wasn't sure she'd ever encountered. She tried to distract herself, but the only thought that would run through her head was 'when did I start caring so much about Eliot that this is hitting me so hard?'. It wasn't an easy question to answer.

It could've been the point in the Top Hat Job where he'd told her that you had to make time to grow your own food – the way he seemed to be honestly worried for their own health.

That gave new meaning to the times he'd shown up at their headquarters with his own supplies for when he was cooking. (Like that time after they'd taken Monica Hunter down).

It could've been during the Order 23 Job when she'd realized there was something off about his behaviour, and she'd seen him looking out for that kid, and knowing that he was just (if not more) protective of them.

That realization had first struck her in the Tap-Out Job, when she'd seen him so passionate about what these men did, when she realized that no matter what she thought of the sport, this was part of Eliot. Part of the world he existed in. She was struck by the realization, that Eliot had fought like this before, for reasons not so vastly different to these men, that his profession, had been based on things like this. Then, when he'd come in just behind Nate, eyes flashing, fists clenched, shoulders tense, ready to kill anyone who harmed her.

Not forgetting the conversation after the Fairy Godparent Job where he'd complained mercilessly about her trying to get him to keep his fight down. The way that he'd been so defensive of her. The way he protected her, even after she'd betrayed him.

She didn't need to go any further back. The first time she truly started caring about Eliot had been long before Leverage. She'd managed to screw up her con, and had been certain of pain and then death, when one of the men working for her mark had abruptly turned on the others, a growl of 'don't touch the lady' echoing in his throat as he took them all down. He hadn't even known her, and he'd probably saved her life. She hadn't seen him again until Leverage, and it had taken her a few months to realize exactly who he was. She didn't know if he remembered her. Now she'd never find out.

Everything of him she'd seen after that had only made her care more for her 'big brother' (even if she was the elder). Sometimes, she had a feeling that while her and Nate were the 'parents' of their little family, Eliot was more of the father than Nate. After all, the father was the protector wasn't he? Something told her that Eliot would disagree, an offhand comment about older brothers being the one's you had to look out for on a job where an older brother had come at Sophie and Nate in complete rage after they'd taken his little brother for all he was worth. Pity he hadn't seen 'big brother' Eliot behind him, ready to attack him.

She blinked. Who the hell was going to protect them from Eliot's world now? The world they knew _nothing_ about.

* * *

Parker snuggled closer into Hardison, thankful for his supportive embrace. Her big brother was gone. She _refused_ to accept that. He couldn't be gone. Eliot was indestructible. The punishment he'd taken during the Tap-Out Job attested to that. The guy was twice the size of him, and Eliot took far too many blows, before laying the guy out (which he would've done much faster if they hadn't had to go into all that play-acting). But even the indestructible Eliot couldn't be fireproof. Could he? Maybe he was. He had to be!

Parker wasn't entirely sure where her thoughts were going, her mind was an utter mess. More of a mess than usual. Normally her thoughts were a network of not quite connected threads of thought, although on the job she was focused only on her objective – like any of the others. But this had hit hard. This had hurt. This had her crying. She couldn't bottle this up and then let it out during her training sessions with Eliot. There was no Eliot to train with. She sobbed harder at that thought.

If you'd told her, two years ago that she'd be crying over the death of a hitter, she would've told you, you were mad. The only hitters she ever met in her line of business were the ones out to kill her. But Eliot…Eliot was different. He was always there, never expected anything in return, just helped out when needed. Cooked for them when they needed it, and couldn't be bothered paying for take-out. Protected them during jobs – got really pissed off when they wouldn't _let_ him protect them during jobs.

Parker wasn't an idiot. Despite everything her own life had thrown at her, she was still a naïve, innocent little girl when compared to Eliot. He'd never said anything, but no-one with Eliot's ability to switch from charming Southern gent to hard street-fighter had lived a good life. Hardison had mentioned the kid in the Order 23 Job, and Eliot's reaction. Parker just put two and two together.

And that silent comforting presence of a man who had seen and protected them from the world the rest of them knew about, but refused to acknowledge, was gone. On an intellectual level (waay too much time spent with Nate and Sophie if Parker was using a word like 'intellectual'), on a purely intellectual level, Parker had known that Eliot-death-risk was a hell of a lot higher than the death-risk to the rest of the team put together. Yet for some reason, that had just made him even _more_ indestructible because he'd survived for so long. It certainly hadn't prepared her for _this_.

Parker was jolted out of her thoughts as someone bumped into her and Hardison.

"Hey!" the hacker protested, voice hard, and slightly cracked as Parker realized something had been slipped into her pocket.

"Sorry," a female voice mumbled, accent clipped and so _not_ Canadian.

"Wait a minute!"

Parker pulled away from Hardison, just enough to see a red-haired woman kick a bike's engine into life and disappear away from the scene at high speeds. Parker dug into her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that hadn't been there earlier. She stared at the words.

'_Sometimes, all that's needed is for someone to notice._

_I see no fat lady.'_

Parker handed the scrawled note to Hardison.

What the _hell_ did that mean?

* * *

_Arg! Just could __**not**__ get a feel for Parker! The others sort of wrote themselves! Not a clue where Eliot saving Sophie came from… And not a clue **where **the note came from...apart from the fat lady bit. As always, please review! Let me know what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm not sure I actually like this chapter... Don't know why, just not sure I do. Hope you guys enjoy anyway!_

* * *

Hardison listlessly brought up the GPS locator on his laptop. Parker was curled up on the couch of the hotel suite they'd checked into, with Sophie and Nate sharing a chair, Sophie curled up in Nate's lap, her head on his chest. The woman was surprisingly small when she got rid of her heels, and while not quite Parker-sized, she fit very well into Nate's lap. Hardison's eyes drifted back to the screen. He stared.

"That can't be right…" he mumbled to himself.

Then again, it couldn't be wrong – his computers did _not_ make mistakes.

* * *

Eliot wasn't one-hundred percent sure on what he was going to do now. He had a problem. The team he knew, the team he worked with would be convinced he was dead, and perhaps it was for the best, if her reappearance had anything to do with any business going down. It hadn't occurred to him when they'd been in the room that she never came to Canada. Eliot never found out _why_ she didn't come to Canada, but she didn't. Which meant that something big was going down. He pulled out his phone and dialled a number.

No answer.

He tried another.

No answer.

Another.

No answer.

That had echoes of a previous situation. Now Eliot just had to figure out how the hell he'd managed to miss the fact that everything had quietened down, and that if he continued down the alley he'd descended into, away from the police lines, he'd be able to double back on himself and get out into a different street. Absently he wondered whether staying away from his team was a good idea.

Yes. He decided firmly. It was. This was too dangerous for them. They all relied on guns for defence, the people he was likely to be meeting used their fists, and could disarm people in seconds. They were like him, trained to kill with hands and knives, and to beware the guns that could just as easily jam up and misfire, no matter how good condition they were kept in. Fists didn't let you down, knives didn't fail to shoot, and neither ran out until the adrenaline left your body. Neither were traceable in the way guns were.

Eliot had seen too many good men die, or get caught thanks to guns. He wasn't about to let that happen to him. Or to his team. He found himself wandering out onto a darker street than the ones around him. He wondered just when night had fallen, it hadn't been _that_ late when the building blew up…had it? He wasn't paying attention to his path, but he was more than aware of what was going on around him. He felt a group moving towards him, and kept his head down, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, but only a real pro would notice that one. He heard footsteps. The gang was closing in. Perfect. As they circled, he stopped, managing to hit a pool of light dead-centre.

"You don't want to do this," he stated, not looking up. He counted shoes. Six attackers. Easy. He could do that without working up a sweat…if they were just your average gang-bangers.

"Yeah, I think we do," the leader swaggered forward, and Eliot looked up. Yup, just the average wannabe-gangsters.

Eliot shook his head slowly, and made a small tutting sound. "I really didn't want to have to do this today…"

Before any of the group could figure out what _that_ meant, Eliot was moving. The leader went down, a guy came at his back and he span, grabbed the guy's wrist and threw him into another of the guys, his other fist slamming into a person's face. Didn't these idiots realize that this was what he did? Apparently not, cause they refused to run. It took him a few minutes, but they were all down. He lifted the only one who was still conscious by his collar.

"Bar?" he demanded harshly.

The man stammered out directions and Eliot punched him, knocking him out cold. Then he headed for the bar. The first thing he noticed when he entered the bar, was the music. He rolled his eyes, just his luck, of all the bars he had to walk into, _this_ one had to be the one he should've avoided.

"_Just wanna storm in there and scream how I feel!_"

Clearly that was the end of the song, rather than the beginning as the woman's voice died as the guitar faded into silence. Still, instead of leaving, Eliot just sighed, ignored the stage and headed for the bar. A beer was a beer, no matter where it was served.

"Beer," he grunted to the barmaid who gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Tough day?" she inquired politely.

Eliot grunted an affirmative as she set the bottle down. Another sympathetic smile and a hand brushing against his arm.

"Well you're in the right place. The band's been great all night, and hell, we got beer a plenty, just give me a yell."

Eliot jerked his head as the strummed beginning to a familiar song caught his attention. The rock style of the group had faded, heading for a more country feel, and he glanced to see the singer now seated on a stool, an acoustic guitar settled in her lap, eyes closed, foot tapping as she felt the music. She leant closer to the microphone.

"This one's for an old friend of mine," her voice was smooth, her accent faded, but reminding everyone that it was there, clipping some words strangely, putting different inflections on the words. "We wrote this together, so many years ago." She fell silent, her fingers plucking out a tune before settling back to strumming.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here," she sang gently. "I know you don't care, but why can't you pretend?"

"Cheers to that," Eliot saluted quietly.

"So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! Cause I just can't keep living out this lie! Yet still I just sit here, drinkin' beers and forcing smiles!"

Eliot chuckled quietly. The tempo picked up slightly, turning more like a country song, turned rock ballad, it was what made the song so unique and so easy to fall in love with.

"I'm telling you that everything's alright! Can't you tell it's a lie? Can't you tell that I'm not real? I stare in the mirror, but I can't see myself!"

Eliot hummed along with the tune and then joined in with the words when she started singing again.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here! Cause I wanna live, have someone notice me! So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! Cause I want a reason, for me to survive!"

Their eyes met and Eliot let his voice rise a little bit, noticing absently that the entire club had fallen silent (an unusual occurrence).

"Yet still I just sit here, drinkin' beers and forcing smiles! Cause I can't seem to tell you what I am! Can't you tell I still care? Can't you see that I'm still here? Staring at me, but you can't seem to see the truth!"

Her eyes drifted closed as her guitar once again picked up the tune.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here! To where I'll be noticed, to where I can live! So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! To where I don't feel, that I don't belong…"

A hesitation in the lyrics, put there after years of figuring it out, after years of working on it deep in the night when they'd not been able to sleep.

"To where I don't sit here…"

The guitar had fallen silent, and their voices were barely a whisper that still carried through the club.

"Drinking beers and forcing smiles…"

They fell silent, eyes once again fixed on each other. Then she brushed her hair away from her face.

"Thank you," she said to the stunned crowd. "Good night."

With that she slipped off her seat, and headed for a back room. It was then that Eliot noticed that two guys had sat down on either side of him.

"We thought it was appropriate," one of them stated. "Let our little sister play your song."

"Should've known she wouldn't be here alone," Eliot growled. "Damn it's good to see you guys again."

"You got somewhere to stay?" the other asked easily.

"Not yet," Eliot shook his head.

"Our hotel then, c'mon. Let's split, she'll meet us back there."

Eliot drained his beer, flashed a smile at the disappointed barmaid, and followed them out into the night. None of them had vehicles, so they walked the half-hour back to the hotel the guys were staying at. It wasn't anything flash, completely utilitarian, nothing more, nothing less. And if Eliot wanted to bet any money on it, chances were, they got _very_ good rates.

They crossed the lobby and hurried up to the top floor. The taller of the two guys let them in, and they all reflexively ducked to the sides as a knife thudded into the door as it swung closed. They all turned to see the only woman in the group turned towards them on defensive, she relaxed and smiled slightly.

"Sorry folks," her accent was rougher than it had been at the club, but it was more natural now.

Eliot shook his head, and pulled the knife out of the door, watching as she pulled out her lighter, turning and sauntering back towards the kitchen area of the apartment style room, lighter flicking off and on absently. Her red hair had been pulled up into a bun, held in place by what Eliot _knew_ were daggers. They looked decorative, but Eliot knew they'd be sharper than a few of his knives. They were also poison coated if memory served correctly.

"Coffee?" she inquired, flicking the kettle on and pulling out mugs.

"Why'd you blow me up earlier?" Eliot demanded. The girl turned, wincing slightly at the glares the two other men threw at her.

"It was fun," she stated unrepentantly, the lighter flicked on. She was so much like Parker, but at the same time, nothing like the thief – as the entire Leverage team had once said, apart from Eliot, they didn't hurt people. "You didn't get hurt."

"My team thinks I'm dead. I checked. Earpieces weren't taken out. They think I'm dead."

"You didn't have to stay on the fire escape. I let them know…if they can decipher my note."

"This is you," the smaller of the two men crossed over to her. "Your notes are indecipherable to _us_. And we know you."

She shrugged.

"What're you guys doing here?" Eliot asked finally.

"Following you," the taller man stated. "What did you think we were doing kid? Well, that and our glorious little pyromaniac wanted to kill the guy you were conning."

"Did she?"

"Yup. His body went up with the house."

"Well that's a relief. I didn't get blown up for nothing then." Eliot's response was the tiniest bit on the annoyed side. "All said, it's good to see you all again. Was trying to avoid you guys. For obvious reasons."

"But we're better when you're around," the woman stated, sliding off her perch and moving towards him, movements silky and smooth. She caught her lip between her teeth. "You're our leader." Her back straightened as she hesitated for a second and she saluted. "Our CO."

"Tav…" he stated. The woman they all called 'Tavia' smirked at him, stepped forward again to the point that she was practically in his arms.

"Then you left."

She swept away, moving over to where there were cups of coffee set on the bench, she lifted her own, and started almost necking it.

The smaller man rolled his eyes from where he was now sat at a laptop. "We have other problems guys."

"Oh shit," Eliot mumbled. "When Reeve says we have problems, he's never wrong."

"Your team's tracking your cell-phone. They've got a lock. You have two options here boss."

"We're not killing them," Eliot growled. "Even Marco there will agree."

The taller man nodded. "Absolutely."

"I even agree," Tavia murmured. "We can't kill his family. Even if we were there first."

Everyone stared at Tavia. It wasn't often that she objected to killing. She shifted uncomfortably.

"What? I'm just saying…"

She moved away and Eliot found himself watching Tavia, Marco and Reeve as they all silently started to plan. Eliot tapped his fist sharply on the nearest surface, not at all surprised when all he got was a slight inclination of their heads so that they were more focused on him as they continued with their own tasks. Tavia was sharpening daggers, all of them neatly laid out on the table beside her once she was finished. Marco was shuffling a deck of cards which wasn't exactly dangerous, at least, it wouldn't have been if it was anyone else shuffling the cards, these guys all had a way of making people nervous about even the most mundane action. Reeve was typing at his computer, checking things over. This team was the best, not because they all specialised as hitters, but because of their own personal talents – Reeve's computer genius, Marco's ability to ingratiate himself into _anyone's_ confidences, and Tavia's escapology (he hadn't asked how she'd escaped the burning building, he knew he wouldn't understand). Sure, as a team of thieves no-one could beat Leverage, but as a team of mercenaries and assassins, no-one could beat this group.

"We could just clear out," he stated calmly, surprised at the fact that he'd voiced that.

"Translation," Reeve snapped. "_We_ could just clear out and leave our boss to face the fire alone…"

"I resent that," Tavia retorted easily. "They're no-where _near_ as dangerous as fire." And she _was_ the expert on how dangerous fire was.

"…Point. But as I was saying, we're not leaving our boss to the anger of his team. When they get here…we'll just have to pull a few tricks on them."

Eliot would've started banging his head on the wall if he hadn't been able to tell that all they were really going to do was tease his team mercilessly.

Unless one of his new team attacked…

But none of them were fighters.

True, but because none of them were proper fighters, none of them could tell a fighter when they saw one. Not a proper one like these three. None of them looked like hitters. Tavia was a slip of a woman, smaller than Parker, and thinner too. Reeve with his glasses perched on his nose, squinting at the computer screen. Marco, a card sharp yes, but not a killer.

None of them really looked like what they were, but what they had been when they'd all been taken in by the top-secret government organization that had made them what they had today. Tavia, the street-smart, half-feral, half-Croatian ex-street-child (how she ended in America, no-one ever knew, no-one ever actually asked), in her torn jeans and tight leather outfits. Reeve, the computer genius, the one who sat behind the computers while smartly dressed suits made deals on the technology they produced, all comfortable jeans and loose shirts. Marco, a card sharp, a criminal through and through, but a well-dressed one, always in clean cut outfits that showed off his…assets.

Eliot took a deep breath as they settled in to wait. All still going on with their own little tasks. Eliot had a feeling that the meeting with his team wasn't going to be an easy one – for a start, how the hell was he supposed to explain the whole 'not actually dead' thing?

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_OK, I sorta lied. I like the end. Please review..._


	4. Chapter 4

_This took me quite a while... Sorry. I'm not happy with this chapter, but it's what I've got, I may come back and rewrite it... Who knows? And I've found myself with a dozen different ways to finish this story, and no way to get to any of them... Meh, it'll work out._

___I tell you one type of story about Eliot that really annoys me: the ones where he doesn't kill, or doesn't like killing. We see him crush a guy's windpipe in the second episode! And I doubt getting the guy medical attention was high on his to-do list, and I think the people in the bar in the first episode were also dead (but whether that was Eliot or their own bad aim is debatable). Now after he joins the team it's a different matter, but I truly believe that before he joined the team he was a killer. Just my point of view. *shrug* Sorry if it offends anyone, needed to air it._

_Turkey in three days!_

_

* * *

_

The nervous feeling in the room was there, despite the fact that they all seemed to be perfectly relaxed. Tavia had given up on the knives and was now playing poker with Marco (although they weren't betting, none of them were stupid enough to bet on poker with a card sharp). Reeve was still at his laptop, keeping an eye on the Leverage team (and probably playing Solitaire, or Minesweeper). Eliot himself had found himself on one of the couches, lounged out, watching Tavia and Marco while reading. Tavia was sat cross-legged on the floor, while Marco was in the chair, both staring intently at each other and their cards. It was strange to see their faces creased in a concentration that was usually reserved for the time just before the fight before instinct took over and the peace of their bodies moving as was needed flowed through them.

Marco had dug into his kit-bag and handed Eliot the book, 'Thus spoke Zarathustra: a book for everyone and no one', just like Marco to have Nietzsche. In German. (He always said books lost something in translation). So Eliot was being forced to wade through the whole 'Superman' theory in a language he wasn't fluent in. Still, it kept his mind occupied. Tavia made a triumphant sound as for once she beat Marco at the game he excelled at. The card sharp frowned, and made a tight noise in his throat. Reeve just glanced over at them and rolled his eyes.

"We got about three minutes before the elevator makes it up to here," he informed them all.

Tavia got up at that point, throwing the cards she'd just been dealt back at the card sharp and started to pace restlessly. She seemed a lot more edgy than should be expected.

Eliot's eyes widened and he let out what might have been a laugh as he was struck by a sudden realization. "They saw you didn't they?" Now he did laugh. "They saw you!"

"Yeah, I wasn't quite my usual careful self," she mumbled unwillingly. "Might have something to do with nearly not making it out myself…"

"Ooh, this is precious!" Reeve grinned, checking his monitor. "T-Minus one minute. You got _seen_ Tav? Not only that but you _didn't_ get as clean away as you always make out you do!"

"Take a hint Reeve," Tavia snarled, stalking towards the older man, making even him cower at the fire in her eyes. "I _don't_ want to talk about it."

"Understood and noted," Reeve mumbled ducking into his laptop.

Eliot would've laughed at that, if it wasn't for the fact that at that moment, the door swung open and things went rapidly downhill.

Nate wasn't sure why they were in a hotel, where all they'd probably find was Eliot's cell-phone, and some or other cryptic note from his killer, if even that. Parker had lifted the master key off a maid's belt as they made their way along the corridor, and it would be back before the maid noticed (at least, that was the plan). Sophie and Parker had cleaned their faces before they left, and now they looked almost normal. Sophie slipped the card into the reader and the lock clicked.

The door swung open and Nate saw a familiar woman with red hair pacing. His mind snapped at that point, helpfully discounted Eliot sat just behind her and told him to lunge at her. The girl's head flicked to him, she caught his wrist and pulled him towards herself, twisting back to grab for a knife lying on the coffee table behind her.

"Tav!" Eliot's voice snapped, an unusual note of command in his tone.

The woman changed her movements in an instant, pushing Nate's arm into his chest and pulling so that his back was to her front when they hit the floor. Clearly she had planned to land on top of him with the knife at his throat. She let go of his arm, slipped her hands between them and pushed Nate away from her, glancing back at the coffee table her back had collided with.

"That thing is surprisingly solid," she told the three other men around them, getting to her feet and kicking it as the Leverage team stared at the very much alive and breathing Eliot Spencer.

"Hey," he offered slightly embarrassed.

Sophie stormed over to him and slapped him hard.

No-one missed the way the other two men jerked to their feet, or the woman went to move to the hitter's defence. Eliot gestured at them with one hand and they sank back into their seats, with the woman moving away from them.

"We thought you were dead!" Sophie screamed at the hitter in front of her. "Dead! Do you know what that _did_ to us? And now we find you here! Alive and well, _with_ your cell and without the decency to call any of us and let us know you were alive! What would _you_ have done if it was one of _us_ in that building when it exploded? How would _you_ have _felt_? And then finding out that they're safe! How would you feel if they hadn't bothered to let you _know_?"

Eliot winced, and put his hands on both of Sophie's shoulders, not letting her shrug his grip off. "Listen to me Soph, I can't say I was thinking one-hundred on track at the time and…Well, you saw Tavia's reaction to being attacked, and we've all pretty got the same reflexes here, plus I'm assuming something _big_ is going down if they're here, and I didn't want you guys involved."

"Man," Hardison stared at Eliot. "That has to be the shitest excuse for not calling us and letting us know you're alive I've ever heard. We're family."

"Yeah," Parker agreed. "And _you_ told _me_ that family doesn't just disappear on each other!"

The small blonde pushed under Eliot's arms to prod his chest, ignoring the fact that Eliot's _actual_ words had been 'You don't just disappear on your team', right after she'd dived out the window in Serbia.

"Who'd teach me to fight if you weren't there? Who'd protect Sophie when the con goes wrong and the mark makes her? Who'd go fish Hardison out of a bar where he's made multiple enemies despite you having sworn that it was his own problem? Who'd keep needling Nate while making sure he was alright?"

"Long speech," the taller of the two men (now shuffling a pack of cards) commented casually to the man next to him. "Always figured her as more the actions than words type…"

"Absolutely," the red-haired woman was now in the kitchen area of the room, leant against the benching.

Reeve chuckled quietly. "That's God's own truth."

Everyone stared at them (excluding Eliot who rolled his eyes and sent a silent prayer that they wouldn't launch into their 'grand explanation' mode).

Marco opened his mouth to say something and Eliot cut him off.

"No," he stated firmly.

"Why not?" Marco protested innocently.

"Because I know you three. I know your games, I know how you act. This is serious. Tavia blows up a building I'm supposedly in, and I fail to let my team know I'm safe."

"Eli," Tavia jerked straight, a flash of pain flickering across her face before it disappeared. "We needed to talk. Old enemies and all that shit. As for the failing to let people know, 'shock' ringing any bells? How many time have these guys been blown up?"

"Nate, Parker, Hardison, and I think Sophie, once that I know of. And none of them were exactly conscious afterwards. 'Cept Sophie, she should get the whole shock thing."

"Excuse me," Sophie waved slightly. "Still here."

Eliot glared momentarily at Tavia who glared right back, amber eyes hard and narrowed. Then he looked back to the Leverage team, not missing the fact that Tavia was moving towards Marco, Reeve and the team's knives (Tavia always sharpened the knives, it was just what she did, even if she rarely used any of the knives they saw her sharpening).

"I know," Eliot told Sophie, pulling her into a hug (she resisted, but Eliot had practise with certain other pissed off women). "But listen to me Soph, I need you guys to be safe. I'm your protector. None of you know _anything_ about my world. Talk to these guys if you have any doubts. Tough as you are, you wouldn't survive five seconds."

"That's overstating," Marco commented, rising to his feet. "As good as I'm sure the beautiful lady _is_, our world's a hell of a lot more dangerous than they could even dream."

Eliot chuckled quietly. "Alright folks, let's all take a seat and discuss this like…" He _had_ been going to say 'reasonable adults', but that didn't quite apply to everyone. "Like semi-civilized people. No killing the guests Tav, put the knives in another room, thank you."

Tavia sighed, wrapping up the leather case that held the knives and her whetstone to carry it out of the room.

"And please get rid of the one in the one between your shoulder blades, and the switch blade tucked into your bra."

Tavia smirked flirtatiously over her shoulder. "Checking me out again?"

"Only for knives. Leave them in your room."

With a laugh the red-head slipped into one of the doors off the main room. Eliot shook his head and fixed Marco and Reeve with a look that stated very plainly 'If you're armed, do the same'. They both made innocent 'What?' gestures with wide eyes (an effect rather spoilt by the fact that Marco was still shuffling his cards and Reeve's fingers were still busy on his keyboard). Eliot exhaled sharply.

"Drink anyone?" he inquired politely. "I'm afraid I think the strongest we've got is coffee."

"Don't touch the good stuff," Reeve instructed. "I don't even let those two touch it."

"Nearly lost a hand," Marco offered. "Can't take people for all their money with just one hand, and it's hell on your social life. Or I assume it would be…"

"Probably," Tavia reappeared and leant down next to Marco, eyes alight. "We could conduct an experiment, are you willing to sacrifice one of your hands for the sake of science?" One of her tanned hands grasped Marco's much darker wrist, the fingers of her other running over the pulse point. "I'll make sure it doesn't hurt…too much."

Marco expertly extracted his wrist from her grip. "Thanks all the same little sister, but I think I'll pass. Besides, my social life doesn't come under the heading 'science'."

"Your love life probably does," Reeve smirked over at Marco and Tavia. Tavia had a wicked little grin on her face, and Marco was just amused by the entire conversation.

"Guys," Eliot stated firmly. "No shop talk."

They looked at him confused. He shook his head.

"Everyone take a seat. Guys, make room for them."

There were a few moments of shifting before everyone had a seat. Marco, Tavia and Reeve were sat on one of the long sofas, Tavia cross-legged, Marco casually leant back with his arms spread along the back of the sofa behind Tavia and Reeve, Reeve was hunched over his laptop still. Hardison, Parker and Sophie had all seated themselves on the other sofa, Hardison between the two girls, one arm stretched behind Parker who was sat, shifting restlessly, Sophie sat elegantly on Hardison's other side, legs folded neatly at her ankle, hands in her lap. Nate had taken one of the two armchairs and was sat at one end of the coffee table staring firmly at Eliot who was in the other chair, seemingly relaxed.

"Well boss?" Reeve quirked an eyebrow at Eliot.

"Yes Eliot," Nate's tone was distinctly frosty. "Well?"

Eliot rolled his eyes. "One moment. Tavia, question. Real reason you blew that room up with me in it?"

Tavia looked at him, eyes serious, the normal smirk gone replaced by a scarily straight set of lips. Then her eyes slid closed and she glanced away slightly, shoulders suddenly tight. "General Timothy Markham."

Eliot choked on air at that one. "No shit? That bad?"

"Worse," Marco drawled. "General Timothy Markham trying to reinstate the Teams. Trying to draw us all back in. We're the only ones who're off the grid."

Reeve looked up. "Hence the reason we wanted to talk to you. And perhaps make you disappear. Sorry, but Leverage is a bit too high-profile for our liking."

"Typical," Eliot sighed, and then turned to the Leverage team. "And that's part of the reason I didn't call you. These guys never do anything without a good reason. Least of all anything to do with _me_. We have an agreement. Or we had one. We stay away from each other. Tavia and me, we see each other, we _should_…"

("Emphasis on 'should'," Tavia mumbled near inaudibly).

"…Turn around and walk away. We didn't this time. And I suppose this is the reason. Is Markham only working this in the US?"

"Some Canadian help," Reeve replied. "Including the Braddock patriarch."

Eliot swore. That wasn't good. For the most part the unit they'd been part of had avoided contact with the Canadian military, and Canada full-stop (which often begged the question why Tavia didn't come to Canada more often), if they were…

"I'll go see Lane," Eliot stated firmly. The others glanced at him.

"As in Ed Lane?" Marco stated calmly enough, although there was a sliver of unease under it.

"No, as in _Clark_ _Lane_."

Tavia chuckled slightly then sobered. "That's a risk. He's SRU these days. And he saw me blow you up."

"No," Eliot disagreed with a smirk. "He saw you blow Simon Taylor up."

Reeve grinned at Tavia. "Didn't think about aliases did you Tav? Lane will never know that the boss was dead."

"His hair's too good to be anyone else's," Tavia shot back. "I still want to know how he does it."

Marco and Reeve laughed as Tavia's fingers came up to touch the pin in her hair. Eliot groaned internally, that had been a two-pronged attack, one on his masculinity, and the other on his observation skills. He'd failed miserably to mention her poison coated 'hair-pin' dagger when ordering her to disarm.

"You're impossible," he told her. Then he turned to the Leverage team. "You're welcome to stay here tonight, we're going back to the States tomorrow…"

("We are?" Reeve mumbled. "Oh are we, perhaps I can't get tickets for tomorrow.").

"…You can come with us if you want, although I'd strongly suggest you don't. Tav, you and me have some B and E to do tonight. Reeve, Marco, no killing, no grifting, no thieving, no injuring, no betting, no contests, no drinking games, no flirting."

"Anything else?" Marco asked.

Eliot considered it. "Yeah, you manage or even _try_ to persuade Soph or Parker to sleep with you and I'll kill you."

Marco made an innocent 'Who me?' gesture. Eliot's eyes were serious and bore into him before the tall man gave up and nodded.

"Tav, more appropriate clothing, lose the jacket."

Tavia's fingers immediately went to the zip.

"In your room."

She left, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes smouldering as she swept her gaze over the entire group, obviously including Sophie and Parker on a whim. Eliot rolled his eyes again. He'd never understand that woman.

"We'll talk properly when I get back," Eliot promised his team. "I need to know what's going on with this. I will explain it."

That was when Tavia reappeared, cutting off any objections. She'd switched out of her jeans and leather jacket into a tight polo-neck and a set of tight black leggings. Her long hair had been let down and was covered by a beanie hat.

"Well?" she asked, putting her head onto one side.

"Let's go," Eliot told her. "No killing," he reiterated to Marco and Reeve, before following it up with a uselessly reassuring: "Guys, please, I trust these guys, they're not going to hurt you."

Tavia fell in beside him as they left, starting to tuck her hair up under her hat. The door swung closed and the Leverage team glanced nervously at the two men who they'd been left with. Eliot's repeated 'No killing' didn't really leave his last remark with much credit. Marco now had a pack of cards in his hand.

"Poker?" he asked with a grin.

* * *

_Please review, tell me where I can improve this chapter! Constructive crit please!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the delay, I have no internet in my new flat, so I'm stuck with an internet cafe just down the road…here's another chapter that I'm still not happy with…meh. Enjoy.

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_

Ed Lane woke up with a hand over his mouth and a vague face with a finger pressed to its lips. A gesture to the amount of 'downstairs' followed and the figure moved quickly out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. Ed followed a few minutes later and found two figures sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

"Eliot, Tavia," he ground out. "What're you doing here?"

"What?" Tavia's eyebrows raised. "No 'hello'? No 'how are you'?"

Ed simply glared at her and she rolled her eyes, relinquishing her seat at the kitchen table to hop up onto one of the counters instead.

Eliot had a faint smirk on his lips. "So tell me Ed, how goes your work at the SRU?"

"Fine," Ed bit out, noting that Eliot was being just as contrary as Tavia, although in a different manner. "What are you doing here?"

"Markham."

The one word sent chills through Ed's spine. He knew from when he'd met these two in service who Markham was – and knew why Tavia's eyes now held a hunted look, while Eliot's face was a blank mask. Tavia's insanity was at least partly Markham's fault – he sent Eliot's team into a situation without back-up, and it had ended with the op going to hell.

"What about Markham?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"You heard anything?" Eliot asked him. "I mean, I've got what Tav and the guys have told me, but not much else."

"And you think I might have heard something."

"Well, if what they say is true, then Braddock Senior's involved. You work with his son don't you?"

"Sam? Yeah. Good kid."

"Perhaps, that's not what I need to know though."

"You want me to see if I can't get any information about Markham's plans?"

"No, I wanted to see if you had any. Getting any information you find to us is risky."

"So do what you usually do, have Reeve put a tap on my computer. And don't say you don't."

Eliot looked confused for a second before his expression cleared. "It would appear Reeve's been keeping secrets from me. Did you know Tavia?"

Tavia looked up from where she'd been inspecting her hand critically. "I tend to switch off when Reeve starts talking about computers El, you know that. Marco probably knew."

"Marco always knows," Ed pointed out helpfully.

"And you didn't find it reasonable to…"

"How can I tell you something I don't know?" Tavia bit out sharply, before sucking her breath in through teeth and rinsing out her mug in the sink beside her.

Eliot rolled his eyes. "Alright, we'll do it your way Ed. You find anything, let us know huh?"

"Course. You guys might not be legal, but you would've been if it weren't for Markham."

Eliot and Tavia both saluted him with ironic smiles on their faces before slipping out of the back door silently, and disappearing into the night. Ed watched after them in the night for a long moment, before he washed up the mugs, put them away, and returned to bed.

* * *

Marco was enjoying himself. He'd got into a game of poker with Sophie Devereaux and Nathan Ford, with Hardison and Reeve both settling down on their computers, and Parker watching them all carefully. Mister Ford had lost a considerable sum of money to Marco, but he was careful not to take too much from Ms Devereaux – one never deprived a pretty lady of her money, it wasn't like he had no manners. In fact, compared to Tavia and Reeve he was the soul of courtesy – then again, so were most people. Most the time out of combat, you were lucky if Reeve would look up from his laptop, and Tavia practically had fighting in her blood. That said, Tavia had been on his arm in any number of formal situations, the only woman in the group she often played the part of disgruntled girlfriend, trophy-wife, elegant mistress, whatever the situation called for – more than once she played distraction to other gamblers, her lips caressing over Marco's neck as her low-cut tops left little to the imagination of his opponents. He smiled charmingly at Sophie.

"Well Ms Devereaux," he stated smoothly, "it seems you have bested me once again."

Sophie _knew_ she was being conned, knew that Marco was grifting for all he was worth – hell, she'd played games like this more than once, despite preferring not to gamble. She _knew_ that the chances were that Marco had been fixing the cards, and making sure she got a good hand most of the time (only occasionally until Nate had dropped out of the game). Yet, she couldn't help but be charmed by the Southerner as he continued to weave words and cards, dealing another hand to her.

Parker watched Marco's hands with narrowed eyes – they moved to fast to be sure _just_ what was going on, but the man was clearly a card-sharp, and to her surprise, had been dealing Sophie nothing but good hands for the past three rounds. Why would he lose money? It didn't make any sense – nor did Sophie's rosy blush from the compliments Marco was pouring out. Parker rarely saw Sophie _genuinely_ blush, and she could tell that that was what was happening.

Nate was seething quietly. How dare this…this…this _conman_ charm Sophie so easily? The answer was in what Nate called him – this man was skilled at making anyone fall into his hands, so why should it be any different even with another grifter? Yet despite Marco's civilised words, and elegant clothes, something in his eyes was cold and distant – as though not all of him was invested in this game he was playing – and Nate didn't mean the cards.

Hardison for his part was staying out of it – he didn't quite get the loyalty Eliot seemed to feel to the people they'd been left with, and his comments about killing had made everyone uneasy. Marco was sat, easily ingratiating himself into Sophie's good books, his smooth voice offering compliments and polite conversation in equal turn. Reeve was buried in his computer, completely cut off from everyone else.

Reeve's whole focus only _looked_ like it was on his laptop. It wasn't. In fact, the majority of it was on his surroundings. He was keeping a cautious ear on Marco's flirting – Marco didn't go out of his way to disobey direct orders, but some things were simply second nature to the gambler, and Eliot would know that. Parker intrigued him – she was sat, watching Marco curiously. Nathan Ford unnerved him, Reeve could feel the anger rolling off him – he wasn't trying to hide it. Hardison kept shooting him looks that Reeve couldn't quite decipher – he just hoped that Eliot and Tavia got back soon.

Sophie had recovered enough and had started retorting smoothly to Marco's overtures, grifting herself, and the two of them seemed to be enjoying their battle of wits immensely. They traded barbs and compliments in measure, throwing each other guarded smiles, and aiming to make each other blush.

Reeve eventually glanced up, his eyes drifting to the door. Then he glance back at Marco. "Do you want to stop gambling with your life Marc? Eliot and Tavia are on their way back."

Marco glanced at the door as well at this point. "Fair point."

He started to gather up the cards when Parker laid a piece of paper in front of him.

"What's this?"

"A note Tavia gave us," Parker told him. Marco picked it up.

'_Sometimes, all that's needed is for someone to notice._

_I see no fat lady.'_

"Reeve," Marco stated, handing the note over to Reeve. Reeve blinked at it.

"Tavia?" he sounded confused, although what he was confused about, Nate and his team couldn't gather.

At which point the door opened, and Tavia and Eliot came in, Eliot ahead of Tavia, a scowl on his face. Tavia's face was blank, and she moved towards the kettle.

"Before you say anything," Reeve immediately knew why Eliot was glaring at him, "I had a good reason."

Marco lifted the note from Reeve's hand and passed it to Eliot. "I think this is more important than what Reeve may or may not have done to Lane's computer. Apparently it's from Tavia."

Tavia's eyes drifted closed and she grimaced. Eliot glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Care to explain?" he inquired smoothly.

"So I got someone to write a note," Tavia shrugged, trying to nonchalance, managing it, apart from the way her shoulders had gone tense.

"Wasn't that risky?"

"Not as risky as you might think when it looks like you've got a busted wrist."

Eliot sighed and rolled his eyes. "And here was me thinking you'd been playing Pictionary with my team."

"Why do that? You guys have a hard enough time understanding my notes, I just wanted them to know you were okay."

Tavia slipped off the bench and headed for her room. Eliot sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn woman. Why'd we get stuck with her guys?"

"Because we were the ones who she settled with," Marco shrugged. "After a couple of months. And because you got overprotective after she turned up in the barracks with a split lip and a black eye. And you fought tooth and nail to keep her when the General tried to move her. S'your own fault we kept her."

Eliot restrained his unusual urge to stick his tongue out at the older man. That was normally Tavia's response – the annoying kid sister. He chuckled to himself – the day she'd turned up in the barracks with a split lip and a black eye had been one to remember, he'd nearly killed the guy who'd given it to her, despite the fact that Tavia had already kicked the guy so hard in the nuts that having children had promised to be unlikely. He still hadn't got on with the prickly girl (and she had been a girl then) but he'd fought to protect her – despite the fact that she didn't really need protecting – and the two of them had come to a quiet agreement – they respected each other, but liking each other wasn't part of the deal, not for a while longer at least.

"What do you mean 'playing Pictionary'?" Parker asked curiously.

"Nothing," Reeve responded for Eliot, his voice tight, defensive. Tavia would want it to stay quiet, felt it was something to be ashamed of – despite the fact that no-one before them had bothered much with her, and once they found out, it was too late to try anything, Tavia had been condemned as insane, and then their life on the run had started.

"She's illiterate isn't she?" Nate mused and found himself under three deadly glares. Black diamond, sapphire and emerald all held carefully contained fury. He backed off at that point.

"Through no fault of her own," Eliot bit out. "Don't bring it up again."

Parker put her head on one side, even _she_ knew how to read. How could someone _not_ know? She became painfully aware of Marco's eyes fixed on her, and for a second knew with unusual crystal clarity that normally only came when picking locks or thieving that he could hear her thoughts. She shook that thought off quickly – no-one could read thoughts, she knew that, after all, Nate had told her that there was no such thing as psychics. Had _proved_ it to her. Still, the steely gaze Marco was subjecting her to was unnerving.

"I think we should all sleep," Eliot stated. "Reeve, you got us tickets?"

"Yup," Reeve nodded. "And IDs. You're married to Tavia again, the two of you got cattle class. They're the Air Marshal and FBI agent covers."

"You couldn't get me first class could you?" Eliot sighed.

"Marco fits in there better. I'm cattle class too…"

"That's different, you don't have Tavia to deal with."

"I could've married myself to her, but she'd probably kill me."

"Meh, I'm going to go break the news to my wife."

It was casual, normal, a slightly humorous edge to it, like they'd done it a thousand and one times before and then some. There was something all too natural about the way Eliot said that line, and then sauntered towards the room Tavia had disappeared into.

The Leverage team shared a look, and Hardison immediately made sure they were on the same flight as Eliot and the three strangers.

* * *

Eliot slipped into the room and saw Tavia lying on the bed, on top of the covers. She'd discarded her leggings and turtle-neck, and was dressed in one of Reeve's shirts, her pants and socks, her hair had been pulled up into a high ponytail, and she looked undeniably young, like a college student lying on her boyfriend's bed, wearing his clothes. She opened her eyes and looked over at him.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Hey," Eliot replied, noting the orange pill-bottle lying beside her hand on the bed, she held it up negligently.

"Aspirin."

Eliot knew that it wasn't aspirin in the bottle, but he allowed it to slide for now, he'd take it up with Marco once he explained their roles to Tavia.

"I'm married to you again?" she lifted an eyebrow. "At least it's not Reeve, but I think Marco would've been useful, could've done with first class."

"I can tell, you got a headache already?" Eliot played along with the idea that the pills were just aspirin. Confronting Tavia was never a good idea, especially not when she'd already blown up one building today – that said, that had been an empty building, and it _had_ been doused in gasoline.

Tavia made an ambiguous sound that could have been an affirmative, or a negative, and it was sleep-fogged so it was impossible to ask her again as she rolled over and curled up, her breathing evening out, deepening but remaining near silent – the only way Eliot could tell the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Whether or not she was actually sleeping was questionable, but she knew how to fake so well that Eliot couldn't be sure she was actually asleep. With a sigh, he shrugged out of his shirt and jeans, and curled an arm neatly over Tavia's stomach, a comfort thing, right now he needed to hold a warm, human body, tomorrow there'd be hell to pay, but that wasn't something he'd deal with when it came to it.

* * *

_A/N: Black diamond, sapphire and emerald are just fancy ways of saying that Marco has grey eyes, Eliot has blue eyes and Reeve has green eyes. Just so you know. :-D I am not saying that Parker does not realize things with the 'crystal clarity' comment – I'm just saying that I think her mind is normally rather cluttered, so she doesn't often see things in complete light (unless as I said it has to do with stealing). If anyone can tell me who Marco is starting to resemble, I will be impressed, and there will be virtual cookies. :-D_


End file.
